12/14/1925 Letter from Ted Surdez

                                                                                                          Skidmore, Mo.
                                                                                                             Dec. 14, '25
                                                                                                                 7am

Dear Doris -

Well it is snowing this morning and I am rather mad.  We were figuring on geting through tomorrow and going to S.F. Wensday.  But it is hard to tell when we will get through now.  I was sorry to hear that you got hurt and hope you are all right now.  My knee has been bothering me a lot lately but it feels pretty good this morning.  I gave it a hot bath last night.  Norman and Dewey went hunting yesterday but I stayed home

all day and sat by the fire.  Went to bed about 7:30 last night and got up at 5 this morning and now we can't work so I guess I will go back to bed.  I would rather start for Sioux Falls this morning than any thing I know of but these folks have been so good to us I think we had ought to stay and help them finish.  I wonder what is the matter with Les.  We have been looking for him every day and he hasn't showed up yet.  Is he still at Kennedy's or (-over-)

has he found some more corn to pick?  I have a chance to get my old job back if I want it, and I would take it if you were here but I would die if I had to stay here all winter with out seeing you.  But I realy don't know what I will do up there all winter.  I don't suppose one could buy a job now and it is a long time till spring, but I suppose I will get by some way.  Well I must close as news are scarse and it is almost mail time.

                                                                          xx     Yours only,
                                                                 xxxxxxxx           Ted

                                              xxxxxx
                                              xxxxxx

"The 'I’m Not Jealous and I Don’t Care' Game" by Dione M. Surdez (November 2007)

Doris at Grandma Flodins (1925)

The I’m Not Jealous and I Don’t Care Game

Ted taunts

Doris flaunts

Songs of other lovers sing back and forth

Ted axes

Doris waxes

Her red top gumdrop came calling again

Ted whispers

Doris wanes

She would rather not hear about lurking hens

Ted discerns

Doris confirms

Loving is mutual even from so far away

Ted portends

Doris amends

Wedding bells may ring yet the sensation is sooner faint

12/12/1925 Letter from Ted Surdez

Skidmore, MO

Dec. 11, '25

Dear Little Pal --

I am awful tired tonight but will try and stay awake long enough to let you know I haven't forgotten you.  Listen Doris it made me feel awful bad when I got your last letter to think that you are losing faith in me.  I know I should write more often but it is not so easy for me to write every night, for we have been working hard and are always ready for bed about as soon as supper is over. 

So I hope I don't get any more such letters as that last one.  I sure have been feeling blue today.  I felt like quiting my job and going to S.F. then I thought that would be a foolish thing to do since you don't trust me any more.  But just the same I will be in S.F. some time next week if nothing happens as we will be through here about next Wednesday, and I don't think we will pick any more corn after that.  Then I shall give you a good hug and kiss.  (-over-)

Altho I think a good bawling out is what you deserve for writing such a letter.  But I will forgive you as I know how you feel as I have felt the same way all day myself.  So please forget all this nonsense and keep right on loving me for I love you more than ever and will love you more than that when I get up there.  I can't keep my eyes open any longer so must close both letter and eyes.

                                                                                                Yours Only
                                                                                                      F.A.S.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Dear little Pal" by Dione M. Surdez (October 24th, 2007)

Dear little Pal


Are you actually little?
Or, are you little to me?
You are a woman.
I am a man.
I should be bigger than you.
                                    But, am I?

If I address you as little
                            will it help me feel better?
Do you consider it a term of endearment?

Certainly you are dear.
That is without question.

And, a pal, you are to me.
Do you hope that you can be more?
 
In the meantime, I will speak of small things -
Little bits of conversation.

          Thank you for your letter.
          I’m glad you made it to Sheridan.
          I hope that you feel better.
          Please be careful traveling back again.

Perhaps this will build our trust.
Perhaps this will become more.
Or not.
I am not yet sure.

          I will write of my work.
          I will write of the weather.
          I will write of your eyes.
          I will write of your letter.
          And, I will anticipate each one.

As Ever Yours Only

Could that be any more clear?

12/05/1925 Letter from Ted Surdez

                                                                                              Skidmore Mo.
                                                                                                                 Dec. 5, '25

Dear Doris - Another day of bad weather and nothing to do so will try and kill a little time by writing a few letters.  Yes I think I have been getting all your letters as I get one every day.  And they sure kid me about it too.  It sure is cold here today and there is a little snow on the ground.  So we are going to wait until Monday before we start work again.  Went to a dance last night but didn't have any fun.  The music was poor and the crowd was dead.  Outside of that it was pretty good.  Norman came very near going north today but I talked him out of it because I knew it would be foolish to leave all this good corn when I have no job in sight up there.  But he sure is home sick.  And I guess I wanted to go about as bad as he did, but I knew that wouldn't be a very wise thing to do.  Please excuse this big blot.  I was pushing on the self filler and didn't know it.  So you can take it for a big smacker.  My old girl called me over long distance today and wanted me to come up and see her but I told her I didn't have any way of getting there.  O well I can't be waisting my time and money on her when there (-over-)

is such a long winter and a girl like you waiting for me in S.D.  So your red top gum drop was down to see you again was he.  Well it sure is too bad you were not home.  But don't worry he will be back.  Well you know what happens if you ever go any where with him.  Now I guess it was foolish of me to say that as I know you wouldn't do any thing like that.  Well little Pal news are scarse when I write so often so I guess this will be about all for today.  We are going to stay in town tonight and I am going to take Bernus and Eloise to the show as Dewey has to work.  O boy I am getting some real good stuff over the radio just now.  Do you remember the song that was sung on the night of Oct. 3 on the streets of S.F. by a group of women riding on a truck.  Well that is what I am listening to just now and it sure sounds good.  It is coming from station K.S.O. now if you can figure out what those letters stand for.  You will know what sort of people are doing the bradcasting.  Well I must close as it is geting late and I have to go out to the farm and take care of my mules.  So by bye, keep writing every day.

                                                   Yours Till Concret Walks
                                                                       Ted.

12/04/1925 Letter from Ted Surdez

Skidmore MO

Dec. 4 '25

Dear Doris - Well we are having some winter today it started raining yesterday afternoon and turned to snow last night so we are loafing today.  We have a real good place to work.  Just a mile from where I used to work.  The guy I used to work for is all through picking corn so I am using one of his teams and wagon.  The corn is real good here we are geting about a hundred and ten bu (bushels)

a day and we haul it about a mile and a half so we only put in about six hours a day in the field.  We have about seventy acres to pick yet so I guess that will last us till xmas.  Any way we are going to S.F. when we get through here.  I only got three letters from you yesterday.  You see two of them went to Villesca and were forwarded down here.  We are going to a dance in Skidmore tonight.  Don't suppose it will amount to very much as it (-over-)

is a club dance sort of an invitation affair.  One of my old girls got married yesterday now isn't that sad "Yes I guess not."  We've been having a lot of fun with a couple kids in Skid.  They've been wanting to step out with us ever since we've been here.  They've been asking Dewey about us and he told them we were just dieing to go with them.  Now you should see the way they parade up and down the street when we are in town and they are only about fifteen.  So I think they had better

stay home with their mothers a while don't you.  So Les and Loraine are getting rather thick are they well I guess we will have to spank both of them if they don't behave won't we.  I suppose Les is about throught at Kennedys.  Wish he was down here now as there are a lot of good jobs open.  Well dear I can't think of anymore to write so will ring off hoping there is a letter in town for me now.  Am going down in a few minutes and see.  Don't forget me.

                                                                           "Yours alone"
                                                                                            Ted

11/30/1925 Letter from Ted Surdez

c/o Dewey Surdez

Skidmore Mo.

Nov. 30, '25

Dear Little Pal:  Well here I am in Mo.  Came down here yesterday and we are going to work tomorrow.  The corn sure is good.  The job we are going will last about two weeks then I think we will head tward S.F.  Dewey and Bernus think it is rather strange that I am going back to Dakota this time of year.  So you know they are

kiding me a lot.  Bernus says I am the funniest guy she ever saw.  She says I always get serious but it usualy turns out to be a huge joke.  But I told her this was different.  So you see I have spilled the beans.  And they took it up right away.  Now they think I am going to get married xmas.  "Well I wish I was."  Most of the girls that I used to go with down here are married

except the one that I went with steady and she isn't here.  So you need not worry about losing me.  Well you wouldn't need to any way, even if they were all here and a lot more.  Because I only think of one girl now and she is the best in the world "Doris."  Dewey has a radio but no loud speakers so Norman and I each have a set of head phones on listening to jazz music while we write.  It works pretty (over)

good except that it makes us kinda homesick for our sweeties.  These folks sure were glad to see me.  And it seemed rather nice to see some of my old friends again.  But I would be ready to leave now if the corn was all picked.  But I don't think it will be so lonesome after we get started working again.  Doris I realy haven't been with any girl since I lift and don't intend to be.  And I trust that you will do the same.

Sure are having fine weather here.  I hope it stays this way for about two weeks.  Then, o boy won't we travel north.  Well I'll say we will.  Norman is realy homesick as this is his first time to get so far away.  He sure can pick corn for as small as he is.  We have been picking just the same amount every day.  He says I am the first guy that ever kept up with him.  And he is also the first one to stay with me.  So you see we get

along fine together.  We picked seven hundred bushels apeice in six days when we were in Iowa.  So you know we were steping right along.  How did your mothers sale turn out?  Good I hope, Have you heard from Harry?  Well dear I must close as I am out of some thing to write.

    xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx                                                                    Yours Forever
     xxxxxxxxxxxxx                                                                             X    Ted.

P.S. - Tell Les there is a lot of corn here if he comes right away but in another week jobs will be rather scarse.  You can call him and have him come down.

11/27/1925 Letter from Ted Surdez

                                                                                                               Nov. 26, '25
                                                                                                               Villisca, Ia

Dear Doris - Well how is my little girl today?  I am just fine.  We didn't work this afternoon it has been raining here about all day but is clear now.  We sure had a swell feed today.  Going to an old time dance tonight but I would jas as leave stay home as I don't think we will have much fun.  I am looking for a letter from a girl I love tomorrow and hope I am not disapointed.  We will

get through here this week so send my letters to Skidmore Mo. and I hope there will be one waiting for me when I get there.  I kinda hate to leave this place as these folks are sure nice.  There's a boy here the same age as my self and he is in the same condition that I was a year ago only he can't use either of his legs.  I have been helping cary him from one room to another and lots of little things like that.  He and I have

got to be real pals.  He is taking electric treatments and he says they are helping a lot.  So I think I will try it when I get enough money, "If I ever do."  Has your gum drop been down to see you lately?  And how are you and Oscar getting along.  Well I must close as supper is ready.  Be a good little girl and write to me every day.

                                                                          With lots of love
                                                                                      Ted

"Love in Harvest" by Dione M. Surdez (September 5th, 2007)



Ted (second from right) and Workers

 Yellowed papers

            Torn and brittle

            Pencil smudges

            Ink marks



Midwestern romance

            Hobo

            Schoolmarm

            1920’s economy

Absent parents

Dead and drunk

            Boy of boys

            Girl of five

Discontented past

            Implausible future

            Running against where

            They once came

Endless journey

            1,000 years

            12 months

            30 days


Loves intentions

            Sent a-courtin'

            Passed down

            Hand-to-hand

Afflicted hearts

            Incomprehension

            Trickling tragedy

            Persists







THE FALL OF '25 by Doris Zilpha Sisson

When school started the fall of '25 I stayed with Marcalla and Newell - no wrong. I stayed with Louie Clark family who had moved to Sioux Falls several years ago.  Dorothy wasn't married, and was home, too. She played basket ball with the YWCA so I started, too. The night I made the team I put my knee out of joint. I was no longer staying at Clarks then, as Mrs. (Grandma) Schjodt had broken her leg and they couldn't get any help, and Oscar had Ted and Leonard Davie picking corn for him, along with himself, was milking a lot of cows, and nieces, the Myrmoe girls lived there, too since their mother died. They were in the second and third grades. So when he asked me to come help them out, I didn't feel I could say "No". The aunts took the girls part of the time. In the morn I'd wash dishes after getting breakfast, set the table for dinner, peel potatoes, put a can of vegetables in a pan and slice meat to fry, and Oscar would finish. Then after school, so up the dishes again, clean up the house, cook supper, and do school work.  When the corn was picked there Ted went to Iowa, and then to Skidmore, Mo. where Dewey his brother, lived, along with Norman Heather, picking corn as they went. It was while they were gone that I put my knee out of joint at the YW. Thank goodness, Oscar had asked to ride along to town that night, so he was able to drive home, and help me up to my bedroom. I had to walk on crutches quite a while. I was sure happy when Ted came back the next week. At Mother's suggestion he took me to the Marion doctors for a treatment. The Dr. here had said my knee was not out of joint, but Mother thought it might be. Although Ted had gotten his cast off more than a year before, his knee was still very stiff and gave him a lot of trouble, so he wanted to see the doctors, too. My knee was out of joint and they put it back, but said the joint of Ted's knee was full of cartilage, to put hot packs on for a week or two and come back--that the knee was out of joint, but maybe, after hot packs they could move it. However this was not successful.

Mrs. Schjodt came home from the hospital, the girls came home, too and it was pretty difficult to keep up, so I decided I'd have to find a place in town. Uncle Newell insisted I come there, so I stayed there the rest of that term. My little old Ford gave me a lot of trouble so Ted and I decided we'd trade our two old cars in on a new Chevie coup. Then Ted got his collar bone broken. He was working for Baynard Cornue, took care of the horses. One stepped over against him and crushed him, breaking the bone. So Mother said he could stay with her while he wasn't able to work (this was before she moved to Colton, and I drove back and forth every day because they both wanted me to come home. Harvey wasn't home, then (I think this is when he was in Indiana, with Willis Dawson working in a factory), and Mother was glad to have someone besides the kids around.

"Doris, get your gun." by Dione M. Surdez (September 20, 2007)

Doris, get your gun.

 

Father has a girlfriend.

Father used to roam.

Father settles in Sheridan.

He calls that place his home.

Father falters, There is good work here.  I’ve got a fine girl.  I think I’ll make a home.

Mother tends to her man.

Mother bears him four.

Mother attempts to understand.

She thinks that woman a whore.

Mother marauds, I am told that since the time that they have installed the road around the Northern end of those Black Hills, driving through has become less stressful than in past circumstances.

Doris procures the car of steel.

Doris packs the good book.

Doris is told to take the wheel.

She insists for her sisters to look.

Doris declares, Dear Father has thought to reside away from our family.  Uncle believes it in our best interest to dissuade him from doing so.  Hurry now.  Move along quickly.  We must go forthright. 

Three little ladies head toward the west.

Three little ladies pulley round the hill.

Three little ladies navigate their best.

They pause for overheating, gathering all their will.

Ladies labor, Once we arrive, we will have a sit with Father.  Certainly he will choose to come home soon.

Father agrees. 

Mother gives smile.

Doris perceives.

Three little ladies drive an extra long while.

Siblings simmer, Mother regrets that, after a month’s wait, a letter has arrived.  Father will not come.  Mother has retained an attorney for processing of divorce.

OUT WEST by Doriz Zilpha Sisson



Harry Sisson and Delia Johnson Sisson
(September 11th, 1898)

While I was still at Kennedy's I got a call from Lawyer Owens to come in on the next Saturday. He had a letter from my Dad stating that he and Mother had never been happy and he would like a divorce, to "talk to Doris--she would understand". Yes, I understood alright. I told the lawyer about us hearing how Lula Barber was out there, too and certainly did not take my Dad's side. We decided that Mother should see Dad, so I bought a Ford coupe, and mother, Maude, who was about 8, I think, Lorraine and I headed for Wyoming in my little Ford. We set a little wooden yeast box on the floor at Mother's feet that Maude was to sit on. That wasn't a very good place for a kid as she couldn't see much and I think she was on Mother's lap most of the time. What a trip. None of us had even been in the Black Hills, leave alone mountains. And we had little money to spare. One night Mother and the girls slept on benches in a community log cabin and I curled up in my car, best way I could. We were half scared to death going from Black Hills to Sheridan. The roads were not good like they are now. One place we met another car just as we came around the mountain, and met another one with two older men and a lady in it. The road wasn't very wide, and I couldn't see how we would meet. Both stopped and the men had the woman drive close to the edge against a young tree--sappling--and they, hanging onto the tree held the car there and let us drive to the inside! When I got to Sheridan I was so fearful I didn't think I'd dare drive home again. But Clifford and Marie Clark soon got me over that. They got their friends and really took me for rides on mountain trails. Their fast driving in the country scared me stiff. At first I'd just yell! After I got used to it I loved it.



The Sisson Family - Lorraine, Harry, Delia, Maude, Doris (Sheridan, Wyoming - 1925)



Harry Sisson (center) - Chef in Veteran's Home (Sheridan, Wyoming 1925)

We were there and Dad and Mother made amends and made plans for the next year. She and Harvey were to farm another year, till spring. Then Clarks and Mom and the kids were to join Dad in North Dakota, where all would go into farming again. And so we started for home much happier.

Mother wondered why she didn't hear from Dad after several days. Finally she did, he said he couldn't go through with it--he wanted "out". Then he had suit for divorce delivered on their wedding anniversary! But lawyer Owens took her side and said he'd really hurt Dad if he didn't buy the old home in Colton for Mother. He did, and Mother moved the next spring, after having her farm sale.

Doris and Lorraine (Colton, South Dakota - circa 1913/1914)

SEPTEMBER by Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

The golden-rod is yellow;

The corn is turning brown;

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down.

 

The gentian's bluest fringes

Are curling in the sun;

In dusty pods the milkweed

Its hidden silk has spun.

 

The sedges flaunt their harvest,

In every meadow nook;

And asters by the brook-side

Make asters in the brook.

 

From dewy lanes at morning

The grapes' sweet odors rise;

At noon the roads all flutter

With yellow butterflies.

 

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer's best of weather,

And autumn's best of cheer.

 

But none of all this beauty

Which floods the earth and air

Is unto me the secret

Which makes September fair.

 

'Tis a thing which I remember;

To name it thrills me yet:

One day of one September

I never can forget.

“September” is reprinted from Poems.  Helen Jackson.  Boston: Roberts Brother, 1892.

LIFE BEGINS by Doris Zilpha Sisson (September 1924)

As I stated before, I came to Kennedy's to board in the fall of '24.

George Sisson brought me out from town, and I left my suit cases, it being a Saturday, and then went back with him to spend the weekend with Grandma Flodin's. When we got to Kennedy's there were a couple young fellows there who had come in from Kansas.  They were Floyd and Lester Surdez.

I learned when I came back out Sunday night that they would help with stack thrashing, and then pick corn. Kennedy had a threshing machine and they worked for him.

That was really a difficult fall for me--away from home, a school teaching job that really worried me for fear I wouldn't do it well enough. But all the patrons were so nice to me, and cooperative that I needed not have been so worried. The county superintendent walked in on me one day when I was teaching the primary grades the poem, "September," and each day as they learned a verse, we tried to picture it in our minds; then each child drew and colored what he "saw." At teacher's institute a couple weeks later she told the group about it and made generous comment. I got over my fear of a "county superintendent", and she became a very helpful friend.

As before stated, I was engaged to Gerald Tyler at this time, and though I got letters from him regularly, I was lonesome, and homesick at first. Ted kept asking to take me home, so I let him, but we didn't really date. He still was seeing Miss Snyder, who had taught here the year before, and boarded with Kennedy's. She came down just a couple weeks after school started and so Molly Kennedy had a house party (we danced on the enclosed porch) so she could see her old friends and pupils and so I could meet the parents. Clyde Langloss called square dances and I got to dance most of the time. Johnit Erickson was there, just looking on. I thought he was sure a nice looking guy and gave him "the eye", thinking we might get acquainted. But he was too bashful. When lunch time came Snyder and Ted wondered whom they might get for my partner. Then she suggested Oscar Schjodt, so I ate with him. Snyder stayed overnight with me, and she told me about the people and students, and helped me out quite a bit. I liked her very much.

One weekend Ted went to Madison to visit Snyder and while sitting in a rocker visiting with her and her Mother he got a terrible pain in his leg. He had bumped his knee when picking corn and they thought at first that was it. He got so bad that they had him put in the hospital there. The doctors didn't know just what it was, and let his right leg draw-up til the heel touched the hip, and there it locked. Learned later it was polio, but it seemed to be the only case around at that time. One day the Doctors and nurses, after putting him to sleep, forced it out straight and put a cast on him from waist to toes. They had put it out of joint and didn't even know it. The suffering he went through was terrible--and away from folks or relatives, and no money to pay hospital bills. A friend, Royal Siegried, whom he had met down here, since he had worked in the neighborhood, lived up there; that is, his folks lived on a farm near Lake Madison. Royal asked his folks if he could bring Ted there, and they generously said "yes". She told me-later that she wondered if she would ever pull him through. He was out of his head most of the time, and everything she tried to feed him, he just shook his head and said "salty."  She was at her wits end, for she knew he MUST eat. One day she made him some Iemonade, thinking he should have some fluid, and he drank and drank. She said she nursed him back to normalcy on lemonade.  So he was up there all fall, into the winter, and Les didn't go back to Kansas. He stayed and worked for Kennedy.

Christmas time came and Gerald came home and wanted me to go back to Mankato with him and look at apartments, so I did. I stayed at friends of his, the Peppers, and of his brother and wife, Ray and Georgia, who had moved to Clinton, Iowa, that fall. I came back in time to go on down to Kennedy's on Saturday before school was to start again after Christmas vacation. And here was Ted. Les had asked if, instead of taking pay for his work, he could work for his and Ted's board. Ted was still in the cast but could get around with crutches. We all had fun that winter; they played "pitch" and taught me to play, and we played most every night. The neighbors, also, got together for cards, playing "500" which I learned, too. Once in a while someone would have a "house party."  This meant dancing to someone's fiddling. These parties were at Siemonsma's, their cousin's the VanDer Waude's, and a few other places. Josephine started to school that year, and Don was in the 7th grade.  Ted had a difficult time getting a job that spring, because there were some things he couldn't do. However, he painted Kennedy's barn and hauled manure for Oscar Schjodt. Then, that summer he hired out to Baynard Cornue for $3.00 a day for days he could work. He ended up working every day that summer.

In the spring we started dating, and I soon knew it was all off with Gerald, and wrote him so. Ted had a Buick roadster, and took me home week ends, and came after me on Sunday, but not for long for this was only an 8-month school.

I went to summer school at Madison again, Ella Anderson and Esther Lickness, being in with me in light housekeeping rooms. I had bought a Ford coupe through Uncle Ira, and drove it.